Little Things
by Tashash
Summary: A series of unrelated pieces written for the Fenris thread on BSN. Most were written before the game came out, so there are inconsistencies and spoilers. Fenris/F!Hawke. Enjoy.
1. Scars

**Scars.**

Hawke walked down to the tidal pools outside of Kirkwall, a wisp of a spell lighting her way across the wind and wave worn rocks.

Her back _burned_. It had been days since she had been able to seek relief for it; being Champion of Kirkwall had more downsides than perks she was finding.

But tonight, it was early spring and still cold, and the hour was late – no sane person would be here at this time and she could relax. Bethany and Carver would make her excuses to their companions and keep them from following.

She moved to one pool of salt water; deep enough to fully submerge herself in and circled with ledges that she could sit on. It would do.

Buckles and buttons were undone as she slipped out of her mage robes, smallclothes following. Hawke shivered in the cold night air, and then steeled herself to step into the water – it would be _much_ colder. She stepped into the pool, quickly sinking until only her shoulders remained dry.

Most of her skin froze at the contact, but for her back.

_Cold, cooling, soothing, chasing away skin-memories of fire and pain._

It was bliss and relief from pain that felt like it had gone on for years...HAD gone on for years, a parting gift from a Darkspawn emissary as her family had fled Lothering.

Only in these moments could she try and forget, away from the daily agony that she hid. It was important that no one knew, she remembered too well other reactions. She closed her eyes, listening to the far-off noise of the waves and remembered.

_'Maker! What is that?'_

_'Just scars, they hardly even hurt anymore...'_

_'Eugh...They...I'm leaving'_

_'But...'_

Then the rumours had started to circulate, a grey-eyed demon in the shape of a beautiful woman who led men to her bed and then turned into a monster.

The first time she heard it she had cried herself to sleep in Bethany's arms, something she had not done since their father had died. Hawke had never known shame, not for being a mage, not for her interest in taking men and women to her bed, not for her related disinterest in the race of her bed-mates, not for anything.

But for the pocked, burnt and scarred flesh that led from the back of her left thigh to her right shoulder that magic could not heal Hawke knew shame. And she hated it. She hated her weakness in feeling ashamed.

The softest rustle of fabric over leather had her eyes slamming open.

_'No, no, no, nononono...'_

His reflection mirrored in the still tidal pool perfectly, lit by her spell wisp. Weather-browned skin, sharp, prefect features, moss-green eyes, hair silver-white as the Lyrium that banded his skin.

Fenris.

_'Andraste's tits, WHY?'_

Fenris, former slave but now a cherished member of their little band, who was as beautifully lethal in battle as the wolf-god he was named for, possessed of a courage and conviction that left her in awe. Calm and patient as stone.

Gorgeous Fenris, whom she had wanted in so many ways since their first meeting, and whose own scars could be considered more a work of art than a flaw, unlike her own...disfigurement.

#####################

Fenris had only wanted a walk; he had had no intention of running into anyone. He had simply been restless. And he preferred to walk during dark moons, when the Lyrium in his flesh didn't reflect moonlight and he could forget.

He had gone to the tidal pools because he had been sure he would be alone. It was cold, late and dark – who in their right mind would come here?

He had seen the far-off wisp of magic and had crept closer to investigate. Trouble could be anywhere.

He had not meant to inadvertently spy on the Champion, his companion. Then when he had realised it was Hawke he had thought the human mage was in trouble, and moved to help. Why else would she be sitting, bare to her skin, in a tidal pool in the dead of night?

Then, as he had come closer he had seen the skin of her back clearer.

Scars. The makings left by fire that had burnt hot and fierce, and old, jagged wounds. They covered all the skin across her shoulders that he could see, and continued down her back into the water.

And he had remembered, when they had first met, the look in those fog-grey eyes. The look he had mistaken for pity, and had despised.

But Hawke had never acted as if she pitied him, had treated him no differently than Isabella or Varric or the rest of their party. And had respected his aversion to being touched...

Hawke had not pitied him, she had _understood_ him. That had been what was in her eyes.

The understanding of what it was to be scarred.

Fenris had moved closer to her then, unthinkingly and the woman's eyes had flown open, startled, and stared at the water; looking at his face reflected in the water as he looked at hers.

And what he saw in her eyes now was fear. And shame. And he could not bear it. He knelt slowly behind her, and reached out to trail gentle fingertips across the scarring on her shoulder. He felt her shudder at the touch, but she did not pull away.

"What happened?"

#####################

She had been so sure he would walk away, leave her to her shame...But he had not. Leather creaked as he knelt behind her and the feather light touch of his fingers was such a shock that she trembled.

_'What is going on?'_

"What happened?"

That calm, patient voice, one she could listen to forever and could deny nothing.

"When the Darkspawn attacked Lothering my family fled, at first they sacked the town but soon they came after those fleeing."

She remembered it so clearly, even though she didn't want to; the screaming of men, women and children as they died and the clash of weapons from those who tried to fight. She shook harder with the horror of the memories.

The fingers on her shoulders became hands, sword-worn but still gentle, moving over her skin.

"We were almost out of sight of them, but Carver injured his leg, and I stayed back to help him."

"So very like you." The voice behind her was warm, the hands on her shoulders still tender.

"I heard the spell coming, knew it was a fireball and that we were just on the edge of it. But I only had enough Mana left to shield one of us. I shielded Carver."

She was crying now, tears trailing silently across her cheeks, why did the memory of it _hurt_ so much? Fenris made no comment, just kept on stroking the ruined skin beneath his hands.

"It wasn't just the fire, the spell...It shattered a stone as it hit the ground, sent sharp, flaming pieces flying...If Carver had not been with me, had not gotten me to Bethany...I would have died..."

"I owe your brother my thanks then."

"And that's what happened..."

#####################

His listened to Hawke's story and it broke his heart when she began to cry - Hawke didn't cry, not her, not their brave, charismatic leader.

But this wasn't their leader; this was the woman beneath, mortal, vulnerable and fallible. And he was awed and honoured that she was allowing him to see her this way.

He could see it in his mind's eye as she spoke – the fireball, the shield she threw around her brother as fire and flaming rock rained down upon her. He could feel the scars beneath his hands, he could see them as if new – bleeding and burnt.

But as much as the memories pained her this was not the problem. This was only how she had gotten the scars, not why she hid them.

"Hawke, that cannot be the whole story." He whispered.

"It only explains how the scars on your body came to be, it does not explain why you would come out here in the cold and dead of night, why you would hide the pain they cause you, why you would hide their very existence from us all."

He kept his tone even and unemotional, if she felt he was angry Hawke would turn away.

"Before the attack I was, well, I would have been a match for Isabela. I'd never seen what was so important about 'purity'. Not that I'd take just _anyone_ to bed, I just wasn't uptight about my affections or who received them. Men, women, human or not – as long as it was between consenting adults I had no qualms."

Well, that was..._interesting_.

'_And it seems that she would not be adverse to an elven lover._'

"But after Lothering...The first lover I took, he was disgusted by the scars – He ran right out. And then...You've heard the rumour about 'The Grey-eyed Demoness?'"

Fenris felt rage hit him like an Ogres fist. That someone would be so callous as to humiliate Hawke that way and then to further debase her by spreading such idiotic tripe...

"If you wished it I would hunt down that miserable creature and bring to him a slow and painful end. I _promise_ you Hawke, just give me his name."

Hawke sniffled, bringing up an arm to scrub across her tear-stained cheeks.

"That's not necessary Fenris...Sometimes...sometimes I think that he may have been right..."

He had not though he could get any angrier than he already was...He pulled his hands away from Hawke's shoulders.

"Why? That because you are scarred that makes you less of a person? Less deserving of respect? Less deserving of friendship? Less deserving of love? If that is what you think of yourself then I can only imagine what you think of _me_ Hawke."

He stood, turned and was about walk away, unbelievably angry and hurt at Hawke's words. He heard frenzied splashing and an ice-cold hand gripped his arm.

"I don't think of you that way Fenris! You...You're practically a work of art...Your scars make you even more beautiful, mine don't. I'm sorry, please don't leave."

#####################

"...sometimes I think that he may have been right..."

The warmth of his hands was suddenly gone, leaving her even colder. And when he spoke again she could hear the suppressed rage in his voice.

"Why? That because you are scarred that makes you less of a person? Less deserving of respect? Less deserving of friendship? Less deserving of love? If that is what you think of yourself then I can only imagine what you think of _me_ Hawke."

And he was standing up, turning away. And something in her heart screamed at her not to let him go like this. She scrambled out the pool, her cold-numbed limbs making her clumsy, and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"I don't think of you that way Fenris! You...You're practically a work of art...Your scars...they make you even more beautiful, mine don't. I'm sorry, please don't leave."

He turned back and she locked her gaze with his, hoping he would see the truth.

_'You are the most amazing man I have ever met; you are everything I've ever wanted. I love you, please don't leave me.'_

Fenris sighed.

"After all you have done Hawke, after all you have endured, after all you have saved through your strength and passion...How can you still think so little of yourself?"

His hands moved to her shoulders, gently turning her so that her back was bared to him. He leant his head against her own, his lips against her ear.

"These don't make you worthless; they make you who you are – courageous, strong, passionate...and beautiful."

He lips moved from her ear and she felt them press against the blade of her left shoulder, tracing the long scar that ran across it. She would have fallen to the ground if he hadn't wrapped his arms around her waist. He eased them both down to the ground and continued to explore her skin. His lip's felt better than anything and for the first time in years she felt no pain.

"Asiryn..." He whispered against her skin.

He had never before called her anything but 'Hawke'.

His lips continued to ghost over her back, leaving a blessed coolness in their wake. Her eyelids slid closed in bliss.

She turned in the circle of his arms and sought his mouth with her own. His lips welcomed her, soft and warm. Her hands moved to slide through his hair. They didn't pull away until the need to breathe forced them. She leaned her head on his shoulder, relishing his closeness.

She had never before felt so content.

"Asiryn..."

"Fenris..."

"You are aware that it is cold, and you are still wet and naked?"

Actually she had forgotten...

"Oh."

His smile was practically _wicked_.

"Not that I mind, but I would hate for you to catch a cold. Shall we find somewhere a little warmer to continue...Love?"

Her answering grin was no less salacious.


	2. Cave

**Cave.**

"_Bethy, stay with Mother and Carver – I'll go look for shelter."_  
><em><br>"On your own? But Sis!"_  
><em><br>"Shhh, Bethy. I'll be fine on my own – I __**am**__ a rogue and I know my woodcraft."_  
><em><br>"But you're a Bard rogue..."_  
><em><br>"I still know what I'm doing and right now Carver needs your healing magic and Mother needs to rest. Give me a candlemark. I __**will **__come back little sister."_  
><em><br>"Alright. Be safe, please Alri?"_  
><em><br>"Always."_

It had been not been long since Alrissa Hawke had melted into the surrounding forest in search of better shelter for her family. She needed to find them cover – Carver had been badly injured in their flight from Lothering and Bethany's mage abilities could only do so much. If only Father was there...  
><em><br>'But he __**isn't**__ and Mother is still dealing with the grief and you are the eldest so you will just have to do.'_

Right. Focus. They were relying on her and she would not falter. She was no silly milkmaid like in some of her more frivolous sagas – She had survived up till now, hadn't she? She might not be able to cleave a backbone lengthways with a broadsword like her brother, or cast a spell to turn an enemy into stone like her sister, but she had her own abilities.

Like fading into shadows, walking on silent feet, and, of course, using her voice to entrance, embolden or incapacitate. Oh, and a certain finesse with a dagger.

She had found a large, natural river, its bed rocky rather than sandy – So maybe there were caves nearby? She moved upstream, careful to mark the way by tying yellow twine to tree branches every several steps.

Her luck must be beginning to turn because there _was_ a cave, but she was still wary. They might have left the...monsters behind but others could still lurk in the dark. She crept slowly up to the entrance, not moving further in until her eyes had adjusted to the gloom.  
><em><br>'No signs of recent habitation by bears or anything else._ _More than enough room for four, firewood and fresh water nearby...Wait, what was that?'_

She crouched low in the shadows, backing her back to the wall and loosened her dagger in its sheath. She could hear, if she strained, ragged breathing.  
><em><br>'A wounded animal? A person? Or something else?'_

She crept forward, ready at any moment to fight or run. The breathing was louder now, and whatever it was it was in pain. She could see a darker shadow, the shape like a man, lying on the floor of the cave.  
><em><br>'It can't be one of __**them**__, it's not shaped right. But whoever it is they're hurt, maybe it's another refugee, like us?'_

She gathered her courage, but still placed her feet to run.

"Hello?"

A gasp greeted her question and the figure flew to its feet, pulling out the greatsword that had been hidden underneath the large cloak it wore.

Alrissa was too stunned even to run.

It was...and elf, yep – she could just make out the points of its, oh wait _his_ ears. A male elf and probably _not_one of the Dalish given the ragged clothes he wore – So he was from an Alienage or maybe even an escaped slave then?

But that was not what froze her in place.

His hair was _white_, not white-blonde or silver or grey but white like moonlight, but his face was young, he could not be much older than she was. But her gaze was drawn to his arms as he held to greatsword in from of him. His arms were tattooed...but in the gloom they seemed to glow...No, they _did_glow...and it wasn't just his arms...

Finally, the daughter and sister to Mages figured it out.

He was branded – with Lyrium.

Her father had always kept the Lyrium locked up, magically and otherwise, and she had been forbidden from even practising on the lock. Lyrium was dangerous, even to Mages, even to Dwarfs. Templar's became addicted to it and it addled their minds.

How was he even alive?

"Who sent you?" The question was practically _growled_. Alrissa snapped out of her daze.

"No one sent me, I'm looking for shelter."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

The skin around his wrists was raw and red, she noticed. And his accent definitely said _Tervinter_. An escaped slave, then, surely. And she had never accepted slavery. She brought her hands up, showing she was unarmed.

"I'm a refugee from Lothering, in Ferelden. We were attacked by... by Darkspawn" She had to spit the word out. "I'm just looking for somewhere safe for my family for the night."

His shoulders seemed to slump.

"I had heard rumours...There is no way into Ferelden then?"

He looked so broken, like his only hope had been shattered.  
><em><br>'He was probably seeking sanctuary from whatever bastard he escaped from.'_

"Come with us." Wait, what? Who had spoken? Oh, _damn_, it had been her.

"What?" He looked as shocked outwardly at her suggestion as she was inwardly.

"You look like you can wield that thing" She gestured to the sword he held "And my brother is wounded and my mother is grieving for our father and my sisters spells can only do so much and I'm only one person and if you're with us no one with bother you if they don't see the Lyrium..."

She was blathering but it all seemed to make so much _sense_.

His face twisted in distaste. "Your sister is a Mage?" He gave the word the same venom she did for Darkspawn.

So, some mad Mage had done that to him?

"Bethany would never hurt anyone, well, that didn't try to hurt her or someone she cared about first. Whatever Mage's you are used to I promise she isn't like them."

"I have your word?"

"On my father's name. It's Hawke, by the way, Alrissa Hawke."

"Call me Fenris."

"Alright Fenris. Come on, I'll introduce you to my family and then we can set up camp for the night, follow me."

"Very well."


	3. Revenge

**Revenge. **

She shouldn't have done it. At the time Hawke had weighed the options and the elf had obviously been too much of a threat to be allowed to run around Kirkwall, but had that really been her only option?

'_He just wanted his freedom, to be allowed to live his life – isn't that what __**you**__ want?'_

She could have let him go, could have taken him under her protection. How was he any different from Bethany, or Anders or Merrill or Isabela? An Apostate, an Abomination, a Dalish, a Pirate. Why would an escaped slave, unique though he was, have made any difference?

Isabela had been furious with her, Bethany had been ashamed of her sister, and Merrill had been frightened. Hawke had lost the trust of some of her most valued teammates with that one bad decision.

He has escaped once, it might take him more time now that his masters were aware of it but he would do it again. And Hawke had no illusions that he would forget her.

Two years later and Hawke knew he was coming.

She knew well the feeling of being hunted, and something about the air, the glow of the full moon told her _tonight_.

She had left letters for her team, letting them know that she had known, leaving last requests, and making arrangements, asking forgiveness, reminding Varric that he owed her five gold; which _would_ go to Bethany or she would haunt him from the grave.

The team was relaxing, drinking. It had been a hard week and they deserved the respite. Hawke downed the last of her ale and slipped out into the night. No one noticed her departure, as she had hoped they would not.

She wandered the streets, her thoughts oddly calm. Perhaps she had never expected to be allowed to grow old. Darkspawn, Qunari, Templar, Bandit, Vengeful slave –what did it matter? It seemed the curse of her family to die young.

The alley was dark, deserted and in a part of town where people would be unlikely to investigate.

"And here I was expecting you to make this hard."

Hawke hadn't noticed him in the shadows, quite the feat for someone who _glowed_. She shrugged.

"Of everyone who probably wants to kill me you may be the only one who deserves it."

His eyes narrowed.

"You admit it?"

"That I made a mistake? That I did the wrong thing? Yes."

"I...did not think you would. Even as I killed him the Magister was _sure_ he was right."

"Do you want to change your mind?"

"No."

She hadn't expected he would.

"Very well, a concession then?" Hawke asked.

"Maybe, what is it?"

"Make it quick."

She was thankful he did.


	4. Light A Candle

**Light A Candle.**

Hawke walked to the altar in Kirkwall's Chantry and knelt before the banks of candles, each one lit for a departed person by a loved one, to show their love beyond the veil.

Bethany wouldn't come, _couldn't_ come anyway. Her Apostate sister grieved in her own way, and Hawke was fine with that. But she felt the need to do this; she had left it too long already.

Until they had gotten to Kirkwall there had been no _time_ to grieve, simple survival had taken up all her time. Then there had been the delivery Flemeth had tasked them with, a dept that Hawke could not feel comfortable with until it was repaid, then the meeting with Varric, and then Anders, then Isabela and her problems with Castionne and finally Anso's smuggling problem – which had turned into a 'escaped Tervinter slave' problem.

And now Hawke had a merry little ragtag band and finally a bit of time to herself.

Wesley had commended Carver to the Maker, for which she was grateful – it had given her mother a small amount of comfort. But it wasn't enough for Hawke. She stood and took an unlit candle and lit it from the Eternal Fire. She carried it carefully and set it amongst the others and knelt again, remembering.

_The ogre, that ugly, vicious, tainted monstrosity. Carver's blade rebounding off its gauntlet. That huge hand crushing..._

"_How could you let him do that? Your baby brother!"_

Tears pricked her eyes.

"I should have protected you; it's all my fault..."

Her tears dripped onto the flagstones of the Chantry floor. Hawke sobbed.

"I'm sorry Carver...I'm so _sorry_."

Hawke covered her face as she cried harder.

"Carver..."

_Carver_

_Carver and Bethany as infants, sleeping together, little hands intertwined..._

_Carver running up to her as a child, crying over a skinned knee..._

_Carver and her sparring with wooden practise weapons, his delight as he managed to unarm her..._

_Carver, with a silly grin on his face after receiving his first kiss..._

_Carver fighting the Darkspawn, blade raining destruction..._

"Err...Hawke?"

She pulled her hands away from her face to glare at the interloper, Fenris; the newest member of her little band of crazies. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Isabela has come across some information...She wishes to talk to you." He explained.

Hawke sighed and scrubbed her cheeks dry.

"_Why can I not have a __**single moment**__?"_

"How did you find me?" She asked, glad that her voice didn't crack.

"Bethany said I would find you here."

"Ah. Well, let's be off then."

They walked to the huge door, her boots ringing off the stones, his unshod feet whispering.

"Was he your lover?" The question struck out of the blue.

"_What?_" She stopped and faced the elf, glaring.

"Was he your lover, this 'Carver'?" He asked; his voice cold and his face dispassionate.

The slap was not lady-like, Hawke was a fighter and she struck hard. His hand went to the rapidly reddening mark, his expression shocked.

"_How __**dare**__ you! Carver was my __**little brother**__, Bethany's __**twin**__. Don't you __**ever**__ speak of him that way, __**ever**__!_" She snarled, furious. She spun and stalked off.

"Hawke wait!"

She wouldn't have, except his hand was gripping her elbow, she turned again; fully willing to slap him again and kick him in the balls for good measure...

"I...apologise. That was inappropriate, and none of my business."

Damn those soft moss eyes...the way he tilted his head so that the Lyrium-whitened hair hid his face...Carver used to do that...

"Just...don't do it again." She said.

"I won't. I'm sorry."


	5. Find A Star

**Find A Star.**

Hawke walked through the small wood just outside of Kirkwall, the light of the stars washing the world in silver. Bethany had loved stargazing. She found a clearing that allowed a clear view of the sky and laid down on the cool grass.

Silver lights spun overhead and Hawke traced their constellations with her fingers. The Wolf, the Dragon, the Elf's Ear, the Mages Staff. She could find them all, could name them all. Bethany had taught her.

Bethany had believed that the souls of the dead lived amongst the stars. It had been their ritual after father had died; to scour the night time skies for the light he had become. And now Hawke was bound to look for the light that her sister had become.

Carver had not known; it had been their 'just us girls' secret, a way to mourn without risking the wrath of the Templar's by visiting the Chantry. And now it was just her secret.

Hawke had been waiting far too long to do this for her sister. The hellish voyage to Kirkwall, being 'found' by Varric, The very _strange_ meeting with Anders, getting mixed up with Isabela's relic hunt, and now their quest the help an escaped Tervinter slave.

So many lives depending on her, so much to do; but she would do it.

It had surprised her that Wesley had been willing to commend Bethany's soul, and while it gave her no comfort she knew that it had given some to her mother and Carver. Now it was Hawke's turn to seek it.

Between the Mages Staff and the Dragon, just a little below the star they had chosen for father glowed a new, smaller star. She felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks and remembered.

_The Ogre, stinking of Darkspawn corruption and smeared in gore and filth. Bethany standing so brave, the fire she called failing and her broken body on the ground..._

"_How could you let her charge off like that? My little girl..."_

Her hand gripped the grass beneath it.

"Sissy...I'm sorry...I should have been quicker..."

She stared at the new star as it shone so very far away.

"If I could just go back...I just want you back Bethany."

The lights blurred through her tears.

_Bethany..._

_Bethany and Carver just after their birth, tiny hands clasped..._

_Bethany as a child asking her to help comb her hair, tears in her eyes at the snarled mess..._

_Bethany calling forth fire for the first time, her delight at her success..._

_Bethany lying on Hawke's bed, doe eyed as she gushed about her first love..._

_Bethany calling ice and fire down on the Darkspawn..._

"Hawke?"

She stiffened as she heard the interloper. She twisted her neck to look at Fenris, the elf looking at her lying on the grass and crying. He seemed confused and no wonder really.

"What are you doing? Why are you crying?" He asked.

She touched the wetness on her face without thinking.

"I...ah, was saying...goodbye to...to someone very important." She explained.

Hawke sat up; her neck was getting a crick. She wiped her tears from her face.

'_No rest for the wicked.'_

"How did you find me?" She asked, she hadn't thought anyone knew where she was going.

"The gate guard saw you leave, and I am not a bad tracker." He answered.

"Well then, what was it you needed?" She asked.

"Isabela thinks she may have some information on her 'Relic'."

'_Well, off we go again then.'_

She went to stand and was strangely pleased when Fenris offered his hand; she grasped it gratefully as he helped her to her feet. They set off back to Kirkwall.

"Who were you saying goodbye to?" He asked softly, Hawke looked at him.

"If you do not wish to say..."

"No, it's all right. It was my sister, Bethany. She and Carver were twins. We were both Apostates and couldn't attend the Chantry, so we used to say the stars were the souls of the dead and look for them to say our farewells...Sorry, I am babbling." She apologised, embarrassed.

"It's alright, I wished to know, thank you for telling me."

Bethany used to say the same thing.


	6. Sunset

**Sunset.**

They had gotten the Hells out of Kirkwall, using the fear created by Meredith's fate to their advantage. It wouldn't last long, and Hawke had the feeling that her actions were going to have _severe_ repercussions.

They headed east along the Wounded Coast to Ostwick. Hopefully they would make it there before the rumours did and they could pick up supplies. She had shed the Champions Armour for her usual Mage robes – She had never particularly liked it anyway, spiky armour was Fenris' thing. They were fugitives now, running from a nameless crime.

Refugee to Noble to Champion to Fugitive, great.

She had lost Sebastian even before the final confrontation, the Prince promising to bring down vengeance on Kirkwall if she didn't kill Anders.

"_As if he would __**stay**__ in Kirkwall; idiot."_

As sweet as the former Chantry brother was Hawke could see why he wasn't Prince material. Choir Boy was rash, as Elthina had said.

"_Oh, Maker – Elthina, I'm sorry, so sorry..."_

She had genuinely liked the Grand Cleric, this whole mess might not have happened with her there to balance things out between Orsino and Meredith.

"_For a while anyway. But it always was going to come to a head – Meredith really __**was**__ crazy."_

That dammed Idol, all it seemed to do was break people, like Bartrand, who she couldn't even hate anymore, even if he had left them in the Deep Roads.

She couldn't seem to hate anyone involved in this mess. Orsino – she had respected the First Enchanter, had emphasised with the trouble he had to contend with, keeping Meredith at bay while at the same time protecting and watching his own people.

But that last betrayal.

"_Quentin's research was too dangerous, so I put it aside..."_

That letter in the monsters lair, signed 'O'. Orsino, the First Enchanter had helped the madman who had killed her mother.

But it didn't matter anymore – Elthina, Orsino, Meredith; all dead now. Kirkwall had been suffering without the fourth part of that equation – it's Viscount, now it no longer had a First Enchanter, a Knight Commander or a Grand Cleric. The place would probably explode now...Ah, bad use of word there.

Anders...Bloody Flames, she _wanted_ to hate him, had truly wanted to take her knife and stab him. But, it wasn't Anders anymore, was it? He had tried to tell them, he and Justice were one. He had been fighting against it, until that day in the Chantry and he had given in.

"_It feels good to be doing the work of Justice!"_

After that day, there had been no Anders anymore...Something had worn his face and spoken with his voice, but the Mage she had known was gone.

She let him stay for the battle, and not all for pity. Anders was a gifted healer – She had needed that skill, but two days out of Kirkwall she told him to go, and he did; she was half sure he had been waiting for her to do so.

And after everything that had happened, after everything that she had done, after all that her actions had caused there was one thing that she felt the greatest guilt for...

"Hawke?"

She turned to the speaker, already knowing who it was.

Fenris...All he had wanted was to be free, to no longer be hunted. She had helped him with Hadrianna and Denarius, he had finally begun to feel the freedom he had longed for...And now she had cost him that, she that professed to love him.

He walked to her in the failing light of the sunset she had been watching, his hand reaching to brush her face, as he had after Varania's revelation...When he had asked for her forgiveness...Before the final battle in Kirkwall...

It broke her, and she fell into his grasp crying.

"I'm sorry, it's my fault. After Denarius and everything you went through – you shouldn't have to run again and it's all my fault." She sobbed.

He just held her, gentle hands stroking her back.

"I should have listened to you, should never have helped Anders. I should have just left, should have let Orsino and Meredith burn it to the ground...I love you, and this is how I repay you?" She babbled.

"Shhh, Hawke. I know you; you could never have left while others needed help. Just as you couldn't let an escaped slave face his former master alone. You did what you could, you always do."

"But now you'll be hunted again – Because of me!"

"I don't care, I have you – YOU are my freedom, do you understand? As long as I have you, nothing else matters."


End file.
